Chapter 7 - Ella

I thought back to the day Tyreese died, the endless hours we'd spent waiting on the side of the road, the silence hanging thick in the air like a suffocating blanket. I hated it then, and I hated it now.

Waiting.

It was always waiting. Waiting for something to change, waiting for the pain to dull, waiting for something—anything—to happen.

I hated it. The way the minutes dragged on like hours, the way nothing seemed to move forward.

And now, here I was again. Waiting.

Waiting to feel better, waiting to feel something—anything at all. Waiting for the judgmental stares to stop. For the whispers to quiet. Waiting for the wounds to heal, even though I knew they never would.

And, most of all, I was waiting for my husband to come home.

My chest stuttered as I stared at the clock on the watchtower.

Three A.M.

People called it The Witching Hour. The time when the devil likes to play. And, apparently, the devil had decided to show up tonight.

I lingered by the gates of Alexandria, arms wrapped around myself like I could protect whatever was left inside me. The night was heavy, thick with the scent of damp earth, the remnants of a storm that had passed hours ago. But all I could smell was the distance between us. The endless miles of space that had grown between me and Daryl, between me and everything I thought I could hold onto.

Carl was home with the kids, watching over them, keeping things as normal as possible. I had told him I needed to do this alone. That I needed to face Daryl, to confront the silence that had stretched between us for far too long.

I ran through the words I wanted to say, over and over in my mind, each one more painful than the last.

Hey, honey. Want to come back home and pretend like I didn't push you away?

I know I asked for space, but I didn't mean this much. Want to come back home?

Daryl, the kids miss you so much. Please come home. I miss you too.

Each thought felt like a lie. A desperate, hollow plea that would never reach him. I felt ridiculous. I felt weak. Carl's words—his insistence that I fix things—had lit a fire in me, a fire I couldn't quench. I had to fix this. I had to fix us. I had to prove to myself that I wasn't broken beyond repair.

But then I heard it.

A giggle. Soft and sweet. It sliced through the night air like a blade.

I froze.

The sound, the voice—it was Beth.

My stomach twisted, my chest tightening into a fist. I took a slow, deliberate step back, pressing myself into the shadows, desperate to hide, to disappear before she saw me.

And then I heard Daryl's voice.

Tired. Irritated. But unmistakably his.

"Come on, you don't have to bring me back," Beth whined, that sickening, sugary sweetness in her voice. "I wanted to hang out with you. You look lonely."

I felt my skin crawl, my breath coming faster, shallower. It was like someone had ripped my heart from my chest and squeezed it until I couldn't breathe.

Daryl sighed. Long. Exhausted. "That's kinda what happens when you wanna be alone."

Beth didn't let up. She never did.

"Well, maybe if your wife was taking better care of you, you wouldn't want to be so alone all the time."

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. I felt my body lock up, every muscle in me tensing, as if I could somehow will myself out of hearing it. The bitter taste of betrayal burned in my throat, the heat of anger flooding my chest.

How dare she?

But I couldn't move. Couldn't speak. All I could do was stand there, shaking, fists clenched at my sides, nails digging into my palms. I wanted to step forward, to rip her away from him, to scream until my voice cracked and she felt just a fraction of what I felt inside.

But I didn't.

Because Daryl hadn't said anything.

He hadn't defended me.

I could hear the hesitation in the silence that followed her words. That long pause before he responded. Like he was thinking about it. Like he was considering her accusations, taking them in, maybe even agreeing.

The sound of her voice shifted. It was softer now. That gentleness that made her sound so damn sure of herself, like she was always the better choice.

"Daryl..." she coaxed. "I'm not trying to make a move on you. I'm just worried about you. Everyone is. You're losing weight, you're never inside the walls, Ian is miserable. What the hell is going on with you and her?"

The question cut through me like a knife.

And then, the exhale. The heavy, defeated sigh that escaped from Daryl's lips. It was quiet, but it was louder than anything she could have said.

Defeated.

The sound of him giving up on something. Maybe on me.

"Just stay out of it, Beth," he muttered. "Leave me alone."

And then I heard him walk away.

I could hear his boots on the gravel, fading with each step, each one pulling him further away from me.

Beth didn't follow.

But I stood there. Hidden. Trembling. My breath caught in my throat like it was trying to strangle me.

I had come here tonight to fix things. To fix us. To bring him back home.

But maybe...

Maybe there was nothing left to fix.

The gates creaked open again, and I tensed, but I didn't move.

Beth came strolling through, as confident as ever, her eyes catching mine the second she saw me. She narrowed them, her lips curling into that smug smile that I could never forget.

"Well," she sighed, making a show of it, as if she'd just won a battle she'd been fighting for months. "Looks like you might have some competition after all. Especially if you keep pushing him away like you are."

I didn't say a word.

She walked past me, shoulders squared, every step dripping with that sickening arrogance she always carried. I let her go. I let her walk away, because what was there to say? What could I possibly say to defend myself?

She wasn't wrong.

I dragged myself back to the house, the weight of the silence pressing down on me like a storm cloud ready to burst. Daryl still wouldn't be home. I'd be alone with the kids again. It wouldn't be home without him. It hadn't been for weeks.

The door creaked when I pushed it open. The house felt cold—too quiet. It wasn't right. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

Carl was curled up on the couch, his body sprawled awkwardly, one arm hanging limply to the floor, his lips parted as he snored softly. The sight made something warm flutter in my chest, a brief reminder that despite everything, there was still care here. He was doing this for me, to help me fix what was broken, to try and bring some semblance of normalcy back. He was still just a kid, yet here he was—sleeping on my couch while I spiraled through the mess I'd made.

I couldn't help the soft, fleeting smile that tugged at the corner of my lips. Carl, the lanky teenager, crashing here because he believed I could be happy again.

But I wasn't happy. Not without Daryl.

I grabbed the throw blanket from the back of the couch and draped it gently over him, watching as he snuggled deeper into the cushions. He shifted, but didn't wake. I stood there for a moment longer, watching the rise and fall of his chest, wishing, God, wishing that I could feel that simple peace. But it wasn't here. Not anymore.

I turned away, my heart sinking. I had to check on Ian and Ruby. I had to.

The stairs felt like a thousand miles beneath my feet as I climbed them, each step heavier than the last. Ruby's door was cracked open, just slightly, and I slipped inside quietly. The soft glow of the nightlight bathed the room in a gentle haze. She was lying there in her crib, the peaceful rise and fall of her tiny chest the only sound in the room.

I leaned over the edge of the crib, my fingers trembling as I touched her soft curls. Her hair, dark and wild like Daryl's, curled against my fingertips. Her face was so innocent, so untouched by the world's cruelty. She looked just like him—her nose, her chin, the shape of her eyes. My heart clenched, and a lump formed in my throat.

She missed him. I could see it in the way her eyes would search for him whenever she woke. She missed him just as much as I did. But she was too young to understand why he wasn't here. Too small to know that the silence between us was suffocating me.

I let out a sigh, my chest tight, and stood up, dragging my feet as I walked to Ian's room.

His door was wide open. Not how I'd left it. I swallowed hard, wondering if he'd gotten up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom or grab a drink of water.

I crept to his bed, the quiet creaking of the floorboards beneath my feet the only sound in the house. My heart rate picked up, and then—then the horror hit me.

His bed was empty.

No.

My mind raced, the ground beneath me shifting. I rushed to the closet, then to the bathroom connected to his room, my hands shaking as I tore through the space, panic rising with every passing second. "Ian?" I called, my voice hoarse.

The bathroom was empty. The closet, empty.

I darted down the hall, fear settling in my gut like cold steel. Where is he? I pushed open the door to the bathroom at the end of the hall, but no one was there. My breath started to come faster. My legs were moving without thinking, rushing to check every room, every corner of the house.

"Ian?" My voice cracked, my heart hammering in my chest. It felt like the walls were closing in on me. Where are you?

My stomach twisted, and I raced downstairs. "Ian?" The words felt like they were being swallowed by the thick air around me, my pulse racing faster as I called out his name again.

"Ian!" I shouted, a hint of desperation creeping into my voice. My eyes darted from one room to the next, the silence pressing on me like a vice.

Carl groaned from the couch, sitting up slowly, rubbing his eyes. When he looked at me, I saw the way his face changed—recognizing the panic in my eyes. His expression shifted to one of concern, but I didn't have time to process it.

"Ella?" His voice was thick with sleep, but when he saw me, his eyes widened. "Ella, what's wrong?"

"Ian!" My voice was higher now, strained. "Ian baby, where are you? This isn't funny! Come on out, baby, please!" My chest felt like it was tightening with every word.

Carl shot up from the couch, springing into action without a second thought. He helped me tear through the house, throwing open doors, searching every closet, every corner. His voice echoed mine as he called out, "Ian!"

"Ian Samuel Dixon!" I screamed, my throat raw, the panic clawing at me, ripping at my insides. "This is not funny! If you are in this house, you better get out here right now!"

Carl and I stood there for a moment, neither of us breathing, the silence between us suffocating.

Nothing.

The air was too still. Too quiet.

Carl ran a hand through his hair, his eyes hard. "I'll check outside," he said, his voice steady despite the panic building in his eyes. He sat down, pulling on his boots, the sound sharp in the otherwise dead quiet of the house.

My heart was a storm inside my chest. I could feel it in my throat, in my fingertips, in the pit of my stomach. My legs felt like they were about to give way beneath me.

I couldn't breathe.

"Where are you, Ian?" I whispered, the words hanging in the air between us, too fragile to hold the weight of everything I felt.

The house was silent. Too silent.

Where could he have gone at three in the morning? He has to be close.

The question repeated itself over and over in my head, each time more frantic than the last. I couldn't make sense of it. Every instinct told me that Ian had to be nearby, but I couldn't find him. My heart pounded, and my breath came too fast.

I stepped out onto the cold ground, barefoot, the chill biting at my skin, but I didn't care. "Ian!" I screamed, my voice cracking. Panic clutched at me, making it hard to breathe. My legs were moving on their own, but my mind was racing in circles. Where are you?

I ran to the bushes, searching through the thick leaves, my fingers shaking as I pushed them aside. I scanned the yard, the trees, the fence. "Ian!" I shouted again, but it didn't feel like my voice. It felt foreign. Strained. The words fell uselessly into the cold night air, swallowed by the empty silence around me.

I ran to the neighbors' yard, checking behind the shed, behind every corner. Where is he? Where the hell was he? My breath was ragged now, chest tight with terror. I didn't know what to do. I couldn't think.

When Carl came running up, I saw it in his face—the same panic, the same fear I could feel in every muscle of my body. He stopped next to me, breathless, his voice full of worry.

"Nothing," he said, his eyes wide with confusion and helplessness. "I can't find him."

My legs gave way. I didn't know how to stay standing. My chest felt like it was collapsing. I bent over, hands on my knees, gasping for breath. The sobs came fast and sharp, tearing through me as I struggled to catch my breath.

Carl stepped back, his face tight with frustration. "I'm going to get my dad, Michonne—we'll find him," he said, his voice full of determination. But I couldn't move. I couldn't leave the house without someone watching Ruby, without knowing Ian would be safe.

I stood frozen, torn between the two—my son missing out there and my daughter still inside. The indecision made me feel like I was drowning. I could barely think straight.

Within moments, I heard footsteps approaching from the street—Rick, Michonne, Carl, Rosita, Carol—all of them coming to help. They arrived quickly, their eyes scanning the street, their hands ready to start searching.

But there was one face missing—the face I needed. The man I needed to make sense of all this. The one who should have been here from the start.

Daryl.

My heart clenched. The moment felt wrong, incomplete. I needed him. I couldn't do this without him.

I couldn't stay still anymore. I turned, without a word, and ran toward the gates. "Daryl!" I shouted, my voice hoarse. I couldn't stop. He had to be close enough to hear me. He had to. I needed him more than I had ever needed anyone.

My legs burned, pushing me harder as I sprinted down the street outside of Alexandria, calling his name again, louder this time, desperate. "Daryl!"

My breath came too fast, the fear clawing at my throat, choking the words before they could escape. "Where is he?" The question was a whisper, but it felt like a scream.

And then I saw him.

Daryl.

He was running toward me, his face tight with concern, his eyes scanning me. When he saw me, his pace quickened.

"Ella," he breathed, but his voice was strained. There was something in his eyes—something I couldn't place, something I hadn't seen in him for so long.

He was here. He was here.

My chest tightened, my breath a ragged mess as I tried to speak, tried to tell him what had happened. But the words caught in my throat. I couldn't get them out. My heart was pounding in my ears. I opened my mouth, but it was like the air had been sucked out of my lungs. I was shaking, my legs unsteady beneath me.

"Ian—" I started, but my voice cracked. I choked on the words, unable to breathe through the weight of it all. The terror, the helplessness, the pain of not knowing where my son was.

Daryl's eyes softened, and he reached out for me, his hand hovering near my shoulder like he was afraid I'd break. He stepped closer, but his touch was hesitant. It was like he wanted to comfort me, but something held him back.

"What happened?" His voice was tight, full of concern.

"I—I can't find him, Daryl," I gasped, the words finally tumbling out, but my voice was barely a whisper. My breath caught in my throat, and for a split second, I couldn't breathe. "I can't find Ian. He's... he's missing. I don't know where he is. We've looked everywhere—Carl and I—he's not here, and I can't—" My voice faltered, a sob rising in my throat, but I bit it back, trying to hold myself together, trying to hold on to whatever thread of composure I had left.

His hand twitched at his side, like he wanted to reach out, to comfort me, but he didn't. His eyes flicked over me quickly before he turned away, and I stood there, feeling the air between us grow thick, almost suffocating. I willed myself not to flinch, not to make this harder than it already was.

"Let's go," he muttered, stalking past me with a forceful stride. "We'll find him."

I nodded, even though he had already walked past me, not even glancing back. My feet moved automatically, but it felt like I was walking through quicksand. I trailed behind him, arms wrapped tightly around myself, wishing I could disappear into the ground. The space between us felt wrong—too wide, too empty, like we were two strangers chasing down the same nightmare.

We reached the gates, and Daryl pushed them open with a sharp creak, the sound cutting through the quiet of the early morning. The gates slammed shut behind us with a thud, and we started our search. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, the beat too fast, too frantic, as we made our way through the streets, calling Ian's name again and again.

"Ian! Ian Samuel Dixon!" I shouted, my voice breaking, but it didn't matter. The only answer was the wind stirring the leaves in the trees.

"What happened?" Daryl asked suddenly, his voice low and gruff as we searched through a row of bushes. His hands moved swiftly, searching through the thick underbrush.

"What do you mean?" I asked, my voice raw from calling out Ian's name.

"Why was he up so late?" Daryl pressed, his gaze turning sharply toward me. "How'd you even know he was gone? I mean, I'm glad you noticed so fast, but why were the two of you even up?"

The question hit me harder than I expected, and I swallowed hard, a lump forming in my throat. Why was I up so late? Why had I been wandering around in the dark when I should've been there for Ian, should've been watching him more closely?

Daryl stopped moving, his hands stilling in the bushes, and he turned to look at me. His expression was unreadable, his jaw tight, but there was something else there—something hard, something frustrated. His beard was longer than usual, fuller, and his hair was wilder, like he hadn't bothered to tame it for days.

"Ella," he said slowly, his voice barely above a whisper, but the force of it made my chest tighten. "What were you doin' up this late?"

My stomach sank, and I couldn't meet his eyes. Instead, I cast my gaze down at my hands, which were trembling despite the stillness of the night. My arms crossed instinctively over my chest, as if trying to protect myself from the weight of his question.

"I just..." I started, but the words felt like they were caught in my throat, caught in the storm swirling inside me. "I couldn't sleep. I went for a walk, and when I got back, he wasn't in bed anymore."

The silence between us grew heavier. Daryl didn't say anything right away, but I could see his eyes narrowing, the muscles in his neck tense. He was waiting for me to say more, but I didn't know what to say. The truth felt like a sharp blade against my skin, and I wasn't sure I could handle it.

"How long were you gone?" His voice was even, but there was an edge to it now.

I took a shaky breath, trying to steady myself, but it didn't help. "I don't know. Like twenty minutes? A half hour? Long enough for him to get out of bed, out of the house, and..." I trailed off, my heart slamming against my ribcage. I couldn't finish the sentence. I didn't want to. The thought of what had happened while I'd been gone was too much. It was suffocating.

Daryl didn't respond right away. He didn't have to. I could see the tension in his face, the way his jaw clenched, the way his eyes flashed with something darker—anger, frustration, and maybe fear, too.

I stepped back, wiping my face with the back of my hand, trying to hide the tears threatening to spill over. I didn't want him to see me like this, didn't want him to see how weak I was, how much I was falling apart.

Daryl's eyes softened for a moment, but it was fleeting. He let out a deep breath, his shoulders relaxing just a bit, and he nodded.

"Alright. Let's keep looking."

We moved through the streets, calling Ian's name over and over. The people who had started gathering in the area looked at us with quiet concern, their faces tense with fear. It felt like the whole world had been sucked into this dark hole of panic, and I was trapped at the bottom of it.

We came across more people—Alexandrians, members of our group—but still, there was no sign of Ian. No footsteps, no answers, just silence.

And the silence was suffocating.

As we neared the back corner of the block, I saw Daryl pause, his body rigid. His jaw was clenched so tightly I could hear the muscles straining. His hand twitched like he was going to reach out for me, but he didn't. His fingers curled into fists, and he looked away.

For a moment, I could feel the weight of everything between us. The space we had been avoiding for weeks, the tension, the distance. It was thick now, too thick to ignore.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, my voice barely a breath. "I didn't mean for any of this to happen. I just... I didn't know."

Daryl didn't respond right away. He just kept walking, his pace quickening, his eyes scanning the darkness around us. But his movements were softer now, gentler, like he was trying not to let his frustration show. I wanted to reach out to him, to fix it, but every time I tried, the words caught in my throat.

His protectiveness was palpable, a heavy presence beside me as we continued the search. But I could feel the crack between us growing.

"Ian!" Daryl called, his voice a little rougher than before. His gaze was intense as he swept the area. "Come on, kid. We know you're out here."

Tears blurred my vision as we walked back toward the house, our steps slow, each one feeling heavier than the last. The weight of the search, of the silence between us, was suffocating. Every second that passed felt like it was pulling me further away from the person I used to be—closer to a version of myself I didn't recognize. A mother who couldn't protect her son. A wife who couldn't fix her marriage.

Daryl followed me inside, his heavy boots barely making a sound on the floor behind me. The moment the door closed, it felt like everything—every word, every unspoken feeling—was trapped in the space between us. Carol had gone to join the search, and I was left here, standing in the kitchen, alone with Daryl, with the silence that felt like a chasm growing wider with each passing second.

We both stood there for a moment, not moving, not speaking. The sound of my heartbeat was deafening, but the air between us was too thick to cut through. I didn't know how to start. I didn't know how to say anything.

Then, unexpectedly, it was Daryl who spoke first.

"Why couldn't you sleep?" His voice was low, almost casual, but there was an edge to it. He wasn't asking because he wanted to comfort me; it was more like he was testing the waters, trying to get a sense of what was going on.

I didn't know how to answer. My throat was tight, and the words seemed to get stuck. "I—" I started, but nothing came out. How do you start that conversation?

I just shrugged, avoiding his eyes. My chest was tight, suffocating under the weight of it all. It wasn't just the fear of losing Ian, it was everything else—the years of silence, of not being able to tell him how much I needed him, how much I wanted him to come back, to fix this thing between us. But the words wouldn't come. I didn't even know how to ask for what I needed.

Daryl didn't press, but the silence between us seemed to stretch even longer, thick with everything neither of us was saying.

"If I had been here," Daryl murmured, his voice rough, "he wouldn't have gotten out. I shouldn't have been out past the walls."

I wanted to scream, to tell him it wasn't his fault, that this was not just about him. But my throat was too tight, and the words wouldn't come. I couldn't blame him. I couldn't blame myself, either. The guilt felt like it was drowning me, suffocating me from the inside out.

I shook my head, my voice barely above a whisper. "It's not just you," I said. "I could've stayed in the house instead of going for a walk. It's not all on you, Daryl."

He nodded, but it was almost absent, like he wasn't really listening anymore, like he didn't believe me. His gaze flicked to the floor, then back up at me, but he said nothing. The words that followed hung in the air, too heavy to speak.

There was a long pause before Daryl spoke again.

"How's Ruby been?" His question came out slowly, like it took him a moment to find the right words. His voice softened, but there was a hesitation there that made my heart ache.

I looked at him, unable to stop myself from feeling the weight of the question. He hadn't seen Ruby in days. He hadn't even been around to hold her, to see her little face light up when he walked into the room. And that hurt. It hurt in ways I couldn't even explain.

"She's been fine," I said, my voice tight, my chest hollowing out. "She misses you, though." The words felt like a knife. It wasn't just Ruby missing him. It was me, too.

Daryl stood there for a moment, his eyes flicking to the side. I could see the conflict in his expression, the guilt creeping in. He wanted to reach out, I could feel it, but he didn't. He couldn't. There was too much between us now, too much we hadn't dealt with, and neither of us knew how to bridge that gap.

"I'll... I'll go check the back again," he said, his voice suddenly distant, like he couldn't stand to stand still anymore. Like he was running from the conversation we both knew we had to have.

I nodded silently, unable to say anything more. I didn't know what to say. I wanted to beg him to stay, to fix it. But all I could do was watch him walk toward the back door, his steps heavy, his body tense.

As he reached the door, he turned back to look at me, but his gaze lingered for a moment longer than usual, full of things unsaid. And for a second, I thought maybe, just maybe, he would finally come to me. But instead, he turned away, pulling the door open with a force that made the house feel emptier than ever.

I stood there in the silence, not knowing what to do. Not knowing how to make him see what I needed, what I was dying to say. I still love you. I need you. Please come back.

But all I could do was stand there, alone, my heart breaking in ways I couldn't fix.

When Daryl came back inside, I hadn't moved from my spot by the kitchen counter. I couldn't. I didn't know what to do with myself. The house felt wrong. It felt like I didn't belong here when everyone else was out searching for Ian. But Rick had told us to stay put, just in case Ian somehow made his way back home. It didn't make sense, but I stayed, my feet rooted to the floor, my thoughts spiraling in every direction but forward.

Daryl walked in, his presence heavy in the room, but he didn't look at me. He just went straight to the dining table. His movements were almost mechanical, like he was trying to escape from something, or maybe from me. He pulled out a chair with a groan and sat down, leaning back in the seat, his leg bouncing nervously. I watched him for a moment, unable to look away, but not knowing what to say either.

The silence stretched between us like an invisible wall, suffocating and thick. I felt like I was drowning in it, but I couldn't make myself speak at first. The words were stuck in my throat, buried under the weight of everything we hadn't said, everything that was broken between us.

Finally, I forced my mouth open, my voice shaky but quiet. "So," I started, the question more of an attempt to break the silence than anything. "What have you been doing outside the walls?"

Daryl's eyes flicked up to meet mine briefly before he looked away again, like he couldn't hold my gaze for too long. He shrugged, his hands fidgeting with the edge of the table. He was avoiding my eyes, and it hurt. It hurt more than I wanted to admit.

"Nothing," he muttered, but the words felt too rehearsed, like he was trying to brush off the question without actually answering. "Just stuff."

I waited, watching him, feeling the space between us stretch even further. He wasn't saying anything, wasn't offering any details. I could feel the old distance growing again—the same distance that had started when we both stopped talking about the things that really mattered.

I couldn't hold it in anymore. My voice came out quieter this time, like I was speaking to myself more than to him. "You didn't come home last night either," I whispered, barely above a breath.

The words felt wrong as soon as they left my lips. I didn't want to accuse him, not now, not with everything else going on. But it was the truth, and there it was—hanging in the air between us, unsaid for so long.

Daryl didn't respond immediately. His jaw clenched, and I could see the tension in his shoulders, in the way his hands tightened around the arms of the chair. He cleared his throat before speaking, his voice gruff but tired. "Yeah," he muttered, not meeting my eyes. "I've been stayin' in a house out there. It's easier to just..." He trailed off, the words hanging between us like unfinished business.

I felt a tight knot form in my chest. I wanted to know more. I wanted to understand why he was avoiding me, avoiding us. But I couldn't get the question out right away. When I finally did, it felt heavy, laden with so many emotions that it barely left my mouth.

"Just what?" I asked, my voice shaky and quiet.

Daryl didn't look at me. His gaze dropped to the table, to the rough surface of the wood, like he was trying to find something in the grain of it. "Just... easier to get up and hunt." His words were clipped, flat. The way he said it made my heart drop, like he wasn't even trying to hide how distant he'd become. He wasn't even trying to reach me anymore.

I blinked, trying to process what he'd said. It didn't sit right. It felt like an excuse, a way to be away from me without having to say it out loud. The words hung between us, and I had to ask, even though I knew the answer would hurt.

"I haven't seen you bringing in any game," I said, my voice small, almost a whisper. I hated how weak I sounded, but I couldn't help it. I hated that I was even asking.

Daryl shifted in his chair, rubbing the back of his neck, a nervous gesture that made the silence grow even thicker. "Usually before sunrise when I do," he said, but his tone was defensive, like I was accusing him of something. I wasn't trying to—I wasn't—but it felt like that was all I had left to ask.

"Oh." It was all I could say, all I could do. The words tasted bitter in my mouth. I didn't know why I had even asked him that. It felt stupid. It felt like I was looking for something to cling to, anything that could make him seem like the man I remembered. But I didn't recognize him anymore.

"Yeah." He murmured, like he didn't want to say more, like he didn't want to explain himself. His gaze was still on the table, and I could see the way his fingers gripped the edge, his knuckles white from the pressure. It was the same way he held his emotions back—tight, locked up, until it felt like it would break.

The silence stretched again, longer this time. Every second that passed felt like it was pushing us farther apart. I wanted to scream, to demand he tell me everything—to tell me why he'd been staying out there, why he hadn't come back, why we were so broken—but I couldn't. I couldn't even bring myself to reach for him, to beg him to come home.

There were times of silence before Paul happened. But those moments... those moments were different. They were comfortable. They were easy. They were the kind of silences that came after we'd already said everything that needed to be said, where words weren't required because we understood each other so completely. Back then, silence wasn't something to fear; it was a shared space.

But now, silence between us felt like a slow, crushing weight, a void that threatened to swallow us both.

I thought back to the happy times we had, the moments when everything between us had felt perfect. And the memories—God, the memories—made my heart clench, a sharp, painful throb deep in my chest. Tears welled up in my eyes, but I couldn't let them fall, not yet. Not while we were still standing here, on the edge of something too broken to fix.

I remembered the first time we kissed. The way his fingers moved so gently against my face, like I was something fragile, something he didn't want to break. I could still feel the warmth of his touch, the roughness of his calluses against my skin. His fingers tangled in my hair, and I remembered the way his breath had quickened when he leaned in, the soft whisper of his lips as they brushed against mine for the first time.

I remembered that kiss like it was etched into my soul, the way it had felt to be wanted, to be seen by him in that moment. I remembered how his massive body had loomed over me, his broad shoulders blocking out the world around us. I was so small in comparison to him, but I had felt so safe, so cherished, in that instant. His lips parted just barely, a silent question in the air, before he pressed his mouth to mine, and everything else in the world had faded away.

I brushed my fingers against my lips, as if somehow I could feel him there still, like if I concentrated hard enough, I could still feel the tingle from that first kiss, that first moment where we let ourselves fall into something so deeply real.

And then, I remembered the first time I told him I loved him. The walkers surrounding Hershel's farm, the fire in the barn. The panic that had gripped my chest as we fought to stay alive, the world coming apart at the seams. I had said it so suddenly, so desperately, and it had felt so true in that moment. I meant it with my whole heart, the words pouring out of me without hesitation. I still meant it. I still loved him, with all that I was, and all that I had left.

But everything had changed since then.

Then came the day I told him I was pregnant with Ruby. It had been a moment of hope in the midst of chaos, something beautiful growing in the middle of a world that was slowly dying. I had given birth to her, my sweet Ruby, with him by my side. Every little moment, every touch of his hand, every kiss, felt like it was part of a future we were meant to have. I'd held on to him so tightly, and I thought nothing could ever pull us apart.

And yet, here we were.

The memory of finding him again after the prison fell was still so vivid. The way he looked when he held me again, when we found each other in that chaos, like I was the only thing that mattered in a world that had lost everything. It was all supposed to make sense, all of it was supposed to lead to something good, something safe. But now, with Ian missing, with Daryl standing so far from me emotionally, it felt like we were two strangers who had once shared a life.

I missed him so fiercely, and he was only sitting a few feet away. I could have reached out, could have pulled him in for a kiss, and never let go. But I didn't. I couldn't.

He had been laughing just days ago, out there beyond the walls with Aaron. The memory of that moment felt like a dagger in my chest. He had looked so different then, so at ease. And I had been so out of place. The words had slipped out of my mouth before I could stop them.

"I know you were out there," he'd said when I found him.

I froze. I didn't know what to say.

"A few days ago," he continued, his voice steady but heavy. "I saw you walkin' away."

I swallowed hard, unsure of where the conversation was going, unsure of where it would end. "Oh," was all I could manage.

"Why'd you walk away?" His voice had softened then, but the question hung in the air, heavy and accusing, like it was something I should have known.

The words stung, but I couldn't push them away. "Why didn't you come after me?" I asked, barely above a whisper.

He blinked, his face unreadable for a moment, and then the truth came out, like it always did—brutal and raw.

"You told me you wanted space."

His words hit me harder than I thought they would. Space. That was all it had been. I didn't know then what it would do to us, what it would do to me.

I sighed, my chest tight, my throat dry. I turned to face him, but I couldn't meet his eyes. Not this time. Not when everything between us felt so fragile, so impossible. "I didn't know I was asking for a divorce when I said it," I whispered, barely able to say the words.

His body tensed, as if I had physically struck him. But he didn't say anything. He didn't move. He just sat there, not looking at me, not saying anything. The silence stretched for what felt like hours. The tension in the room was suffocating, pressing in on me from all sides.

I didn't know what to do with myself anymore.

We stood there, not looking at each other, not speaking. The silence between us was suffocating, the weight of everything we hadn't said pressing down on us both. I could feel the weeks of unspoken words, the things we had avoided. All the things I hadn't said, all the things he hadn't said.

"Daryl! Ella!"

Rick's voice cut through the thick silence of the night, a sudden shout that made my heart skip.

Without thinking, both Daryl and I bolted for the door, our feet slapping against the floor in frantic sync. Every part of me felt like it was vibrating with the same desperate energy—fear, hope, panic. My body moved before my mind could catch up, and I didn't even hesitate as I ran outside, the cold air stinging my face.

Rick was walking toward us, his arms wrapped tightly around a small, limp body.

My chest seized, and I reached out instinctively, gripping Daryl's arm so tightly that my fingers dug into the fabric of his sleeve. My breath caught in my throat.

I couldn't breathe. No. He couldn't be dead.

"Daryl," I whispered, my voice barely audible. My eyes never left the form in Rick's arms, the fear spiraling faster as I watched them get closer.

Daryl's gaze was wide, but we didn't move. Neither of us dared to breathe, as if the air around us had thickened, trapping us in this moment of disbelief. My heart pounded in my chest, each beat sounding louder than the last.

"He's alright!" Rick's voice rang out, louder now, and I froze, unable to tear my gaze away from Daryl, from the way his body was still—waiting for confirmation, for something to prove that it wasn't too late.

Electric pulses ran up my fingertips where I still touched Daryl, as if I could feel the same relief rippling through him. But we didn't speak. We didn't move. We just stood there, frozen in the weight of what could have been.

Daryl broke our gaze, pulling me with him as he sprinted toward Rick. I barely kept my balance as my legs moved too quickly, my heart still in my throat, still unsure whether we were walking toward salvation or a nightmare.

When we reached Rick, Ian lifted his head from his shoulder, blinking groggily at us. I swear my heart stopped. It wasn't relief, not yet, not fully—it was just a flood of overwhelming emotion, raw and uncontainable.

"Ian!" I cried, barely able to hold back the wave of tears that threatened to spill. My arms moved before my mind could even think, prying him from Rick's grasp as I pulled him into me.

"Ian," I whispered his name like a prayer, like the only thing that mattered in this moment was that he was here, that he was safe. "You scared me so much."

His small face, pale and tired, turned toward me, his lip trembling as he looked between Daryl and I. My heart broke at the vulnerability in his eyes.

"I'm sorry I left," he whispered, his voice barely above a tremor.

"Baby." I pulled him in closer, cradling him like he was still small, still the child who had once clung to me every night. I held him tighter, pressing my cheek against his hair. "Don't you ever scare me like that again, Ian Dixon. Do you hear me?"

"I'm sorry," he whimpered, his words muffled against my shoulder. He trembled in my arms, and for a brief moment, I held him there, trying to breathe him in, trying to make sure he was real, that he was truly here.

But my gaze drifted up to Daryl, and I saw it—the longing in his eyes, the way his body stiffened, like he was aching to hold our son, but he didn't. Not while I was holding him, not while touching Ian would bring him closer to me. It was too much, too complicated.

I lifted my hand from Ian's back, my fingers trembling as I reached out for Daryl, hoping—no, needing—that he would take my hand. But instead, he just shook his head slowly, almost imperceptibly.

The pain that shot through me was sharp, sudden, like glass shattering in my chest. I felt it all at once, the fracture between us, the distance I could no longer ignore.

I let my hand fall back to my side, and I looked down at Ian, my heart cracking open. The pieces of me that had once been whole were starting to slip through my fingers.

I set Ian on his feet, my fingers lingering on his shoulders for just a moment longer before I stepped back, forcing myself to release him. I watched him take a hesitant step toward Daryl, his small arms reaching out, the vulnerability in his movements a reminder of just how much we'd all been through.

Daryl didn't step back this time. He didn't hesitate. He pulled Ian in, holding him close, his arms wrapping around him as if he had been waiting for this moment for so long. The image of them together—father and son, finally reunited—should have brought me comfort, but all it did was make my chest ache.

I stood there, watching them, the distance between Daryl and I growing, even as our son found his place between us.

And I wondered if we'd ever be able to bridge the gap between us again.

Once we were both satisfied that Ian was alright, we brought him inside the house. The tension in my chest hadn't subsided, and every step felt like it carried the weight of a thousand unspoken words. I could feel Daryl's presence next to me, but there was still something heavy between us—something unspoken, something that neither of us was ready to face yet.

We sat him down at the table, the weight of the room pressing in on all sides. Daryl sat next to Ian, and I took my seat across from them. My eyes lingered on Ian, his small frame still too fragile to carry the burden of what had happened.

"Ian," I said softly, my voice catching on the words. "What in the world were you thinking, baby?"

Ian glanced between Daryl and me, his little face flushed, his eyes darting around like he was afraid to make eye contact. He shook his head, his hands fidgeting nervously in his lap.

Daryl's voice was steady, but I could hear the edge of concern in it. "Hey, little man. Tell us why."

Ian shook his head again, his body pulling in on itself, as though he was shrinking under the weight of his own guilt.

"If you don't tell us, you're going to be in more trouble, because we'll have to assume that you did this just to disobey us," I said, trying to keep my tone serious, but my heart was breaking in my chest. "Now, tell us why you left the house."

Ian whispered something under his breath, too quiet for me to hear, and Daryl and I exchanged a glance. Our brows furrowed, confusion flooding us both.

"Come on, bud," Daryl urged gently, running a hand down Ian's back in an attempt to comfort him. But I could feel the tension in his shoulders, the way he was trying to hold it all together.

"I just wanted Dad." Ian's voice was so small, so vulnerable, as he stared down at his lap, his fingers twisting anxiously.

The words hit me like a blow. I wanted to reach out, to make him understand, to tell him it wasn't his fault, but there was more. Daryl's face paled, his hand halting on Ian's back as the weight of those words sank in.

"Were you outside the gates?" I asked, my stomach sinking like a stone.

Ian shook his head quickly, almost too quickly. My heart was hammering now.

"I went up the watchtower." He said, his voice still small, but the guilt was thick in every syllable. "I saw Dad going up there one night after I went to bed. He used the door on the side, and I saw him go in. I thought if I waited there, he would make me come back home. I thought he would stay."

The breath left my body in one sharp, painful rush. It was like I'd been stabbed in the chest, the ache spreading through me as the reality of his words sank in. Ian had been so desperate, so lost in his own pain, that he thought he could fix things by waiting, by watching Daryl.

I swallowed hard, my throat tight. I tried to keep myself together, tried to hold onto the little bit of strength I had left, but it felt like my heart was shattering into a thousand pieces.

"I just miss seeing you every day." Ian whimpered, his small voice trembling. Little tears began to run down his cheeks, and every drop felt like it was cutting through me. "If I hadn't let that guy take me outside the walls, you and Dad might still love each other. You would still be home and make me breakfast together and play with me. You would do all the gross kissing stuff, and put me to bed together."

The words hit me with a force I wasn't prepared for. My whole body shook as a sob wrenched from my chest, my face falling into my hands. My poor baby. My heart broke for him.

He thought it was his fault.

I moved before I could think, planting myself beside his chair as I pulled him into my arms, my own sobs muffled against his small body. He was shaking against me, his little body trembling with each sob, and all I could do was hold him tighter, like I could somehow shield him from the pain he was carrying.

"I'm so sorry, Ian." I sobbed, my voice breaking with every word, every tear. "Baby, please don't say that. None of this is your fault."

But Ian pulled back, his little face red and blotchy, tears streaming down his cheeks as he looked at me with those big, broken eyes.

"But it is, Mom!" His voice cracked, full of anguish. "You and Dad don't talk anymore! Dad's always gone! It's my fault he left, because I let that stupid guy take me!"

I could barely breathe through the weight of his words. My chest ached, my heart shattered as I saw the pure, unadulterated pain in his eyes. He was blaming himself for everything.

"I didn't mean to make you hate each other!" Ian shouted, his voice desperate, pleading. "I'm sorry!"

The world felt like it was crashing down around me. I couldn't even speak through the sobs that wracked my body. My hands were shaking as I buried my face in Ian's hair, trying to pull him closer, trying to hold him in the only way I knew how.

I couldn't say anything else. My body was trembling too much, my heart breaking in ways I didn't know how to fix.

I felt Daryl move behind me, his presence a looming shadow, but I couldn't look at him. Not yet. Not while Ian was falling apart in my arms.

I heard Daryl pacing behind me, his footsteps restless, like he couldn't stand still. The pain in his steps, in his movements, was clear even without words. I could feel it, too—this unbearable weight that we couldn't lift, this brokenness that none of us knew how to fix.

"I'm sorry, Mom!" Ian sobbed, his voice breaking through the tension in the room. His tiny body trembled in my arms, and I could feel the weight of his pain pressing against me. "I love you and Dad! I didn't mean to!"

The sound of his crying felt like a dagger to my chest. I pulled back just enough to look at him, cupping his tear-streaked face in my hands, my heart breaking all over again as I saw the deep guilt and confusion in his eyes.

"Ian," I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. My thumbs brushed over his cheeks, wiping away the fresh tears, but I couldn't stop the ones that were spilling from my own eyes. "We love you so much. I promise, this is not your fault. Not in any way." I choked on the words, desperate for him to understand. "What happened between me and Dad, it had nothing to do with you. I swear. Please don't blame yourself, baby."

But he wasn't listening. His little face twisted in agony as he looked up at me, those words cutting into me deeper than anything I had ever felt.

"Why can't you guys love each other again?" Ian's voice was broken, his eyes glassy and wide with innocence, his small chest heaving with each sob. Snot ran down his nose, but he didn't care. He was too lost in his pain. And it was tearing me apart.

I turned to Daryl, my heart pounding in my chest, but he was already moving, a tissue in hand. He took Ian's face gently in his calloused hands, and for a moment, I saw him—the Daryl I remembered. His fingers brushed against mine as he wiped Ian's nose, a tender gesture that felt like a distant echo of what used to be. His lips pressed against Ian's forehead, a kiss that should have been full of warmth, but instead felt like a fragile attempt to hold on to something we were losing.

Daryl's tears were falling, and my heart shattered all over again. Watching him, so broken, so raw, it was like a knife twisting in my chest. How had we gotten here? How had we let everything slip away?

I could feel the sobs building in my throat, but I couldn't let them escape. Not yet. Not when Ian was still holding on to us, fragile and lost in the confusion of everything that had happened.

"Please, don't leave again, Dad." Ian's voice was barely a whisper, but the desperation in it was enough to crack me wide open. His hands clung to Daryl's arm like a lifeline, like if he let go, everything would fall apart. "I'm sorry."

"Hey." Daryl's voice was soft, almost broken, as he covered Ian's small hands with his free one. He glanced at me, and for the first time, I saw the pain in his eyes, so clear, so raw. His own tears shone like liquid glass in his baby blue eyes, and it felt like my soul was being torn apart. "Mom's right," he whispered, his voice barely above a breath. "None of this is your fault. You did nothing wrong."

His hand tightened around Ian's, holding him with a strength I didn't think he had left. "That man took you to hurt me and Mom. He knew it was wrong, but he did it anyway. This is his fault, not yours."

Ian's eyes bounced between Daryl and me, his little face full of confusion and sorrow. He wanted to believe us. He needed to believe us. But the weight of everything, the way he thought it was all his fault, was crushing him.

"You promise?" he whispered, his voice so small it nearly broke me in two.

"We promise." I could barely speak the words, but I had to. I had to make him understand, even though I wasn't sure how to make sense of it all myself.

I pushed myself to stand, my legs weak beneath me as I took a step back, reaching for my own tissue. Another sob caught in my throat, and it felt like I couldn't breathe. I turned to look at Daryl and Ian, and my heart lurched as I saw Daryl pulling Ian in close, cradling him against his chest, rubbing his back in soothing circles.

"I think we should get you back to bed," I said, trying to steady my voice, but the tremors were too strong. "It's been a long night."

Ian's small voice broke through the silence, and I felt the air leave my lungs. "Can Dad do it?" His eyes lifted to Daryl's, his expression fragile, full of need.

Daryl's answer was quiet but firm. He nodded, his gaze softening for a moment as he met my eyes. Without saying a word, he stood, lifting Ian in his arms. I stepped back, watching them, trying to hold onto some shred of normalcy, even as everything inside me felt like it was crumbling.

I settled onto the couch, my body feeling like it was made of glass. I waited, too afraid to move, too afraid to think. I watched Daryl carry Ian upstairs, his every step a reminder of how much had been broken, how much we still hadn't fixed.

I prayed he wouldn't leave. Not after this. Not after everything Ian had just told us. But as I stared at the door, at the space where Daryl had been just moments ago, I couldn't help but wonder if anything would ever be the same again.

And I couldn't answer.